You're So Mean When You Talk (About Yourself)
by unoriginalrhombus
Summary: "It's not much, especially in the grand scheme of things, but it's still a lot more than Santana has ever given her. She's tallying the points and the days now & everything is heavily pointing towards relationship, and God, how had she not seen this coming? She has a drawer and if she isn't careful, she'll start to believe that she has a home, too." Post 4x14 (I do).
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This is by far the most depressing thing I've ever written. I hope you all enjoy it because I started this while drunk and finished it while sober. This will probably be the last fanfic I spam you all with for a little while. I'm trying to not bombard the world, ya know? The second chapter will be posted tomorrow (this was supposed to be a one-shot but it quickly became too long). Please, please, please let me know what you think._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or the characters. They are not my creation and I do not profit off of them._

* * *

**You're So Mean When You Talk (About Yourself)**

**(Part One of Two)**

It's the easy parts in life that are the hardest for Quinn to deal with.

Society says that the rough patches of life are the ones that you have to prepare yourself for, but they never say anything about the _easy_ patches. She's spent the majority of her life waiting for the next bad thing to happen to her, that she can't make it through the good times without expecting the other shoe to drop.

And that's assuming that Quinn would even be able to recognize what the easy patches were. She's spent so much time focused on the negative that she thinks she could find negative prints in any area of life, even the best ones. It's that realization alone that leads her to taking what she thinks she deserves (especially throughout high school), it's what leads her to Mr. Schue's wedding, a plan set up and a target in mind.

She honestly doesn't even know why she settled on Santana. Puck would have been easier. Hell, _anyone else_ would have been easier, but she settles on Santana anyway. It's not about revenge, she realizes later when Santana is spooning her from behind. It's not about being with a girl or questioning her sexuality or even feeling spiteful.

In the end it's about pure _loneliness_. In the end it's about needing to feel wanted, craved, desired, and for once, not alone. In the end it was about Quinn obtaining something _easy_ and something equal, and if anyone was ever her equal, it was Santana Lopez.

Santana was cruel, bitter, vindictive, conniving, and ruthless. She was everything Quinn was, and what's more, everything Quinn wasn't. She was her equal in the ways that Quinn needed her to be and better in the ways that Quinn just wasn't.

Santana was messy with her life in a way that Quinn could never be. Santana lived off of her emotions, she planned around them, she was reckless and she based decisions off of them. Quinn was the opposite. She's a planner and a plotter, almost every moment of her life (down to the day) was strategized to Quinn's benefit.

So Quinn isn't messy in the way that Santana was.

Quinn was messy in a way the Santana never could be. She was messy with _people_. She lived off of her ability to not attach to any other individual. She thrived on the fact that she didn't rely on anyone other than herself. She did what she wanted, when she wanted, and that was that. She had no allegiance, she had no real friends, and she was fine with that.

If Quinn had to pinpoint an exact reason as to why she chose to sleep with Santana, that would be it. It would be the fact that everything with Santana had always come _easy_ and felt _natural _(even when they were fighting), whereas every other moment of Quinn's life had felt strategically mapped out.

If Quinn had to pinpoint the exact reason as to why she chose to _continue _sleeping with Santana (months later), well, Quinn wouldn't be able to do that.

* * *

At first she thinks that she continues this...thing with Santana because she's depressed. After all, after four years in Lima she had had a baby, given up said baby, got a tattoo, become a skank, got into a car accident, quit and rejoined cheerios, and somehow still ended up alone. For four years her life was the talk of the town and now all of a sudden she was barely a blip on anyone's radar. It was _aggravating_ that the students of Yale didn't think she was worth anything. It was even more irritating that the only way she could reverse that feeling was to seek comfort in her old frenemies arms. Still, Quinn continued on.

Santana, for all of her faults and misgivings and benefits, doesn't ever say anything about the situation they repeatedly find themselves in. She doesn't protest when Quinn starts showing up on weekends, a grin on her face and a hole in her heart. It's Santana's lack of protest that clears Quinn's mind and clues her in to the real reason she continued on with this...weekly get together.

Santana was a lot of things but she wasn't the type of girl to ask questions. She was simple in the sense that she often let life come to her. She didn't protest when Quinn decided to rebel against everything she had ever been taught, and she didn't ask questions. Santana didn't encourage their altercations or put them down. In fact, Santana was mostly just _there_ and Quinn thinks that it's awfully nice to just have someone _there_ for her whenever she needs it.

It almost feels like friendship.

Quinn brushes off the thought, even though it feels like a warning, because she isn't ready to go back to being that lonely girl at Yale again. Maybe their escapades were truly only about sex, maybe it was irrational of her to believe otherwise. Either way, Quinn had been Lucy Caboosey for far too long to stop herself from indulging, even when it's just in an illusion.

She has her fears, of course, she's always had them. They're underneath the surface and always present, even when she thinks she can hide them. They're there even when she doesn't want them and it's nice to indulge in something else for a change. It was nice to not be afraid of the future, to just live in the present, even if she was doing that with Santana.

She's always been this girl and Santana has always been that, so she doesn't ever really expect otherwise. She knows all of the cards in both of their hands and she's honestly glad that Santana can't surprise her because Santana _won_'_t. _Santana doesn't ask questions, she doesn't push, she just lets shit between them be.

It's comforting, to know that after all these years, she still has a second in command instead of a friend.

* * *

It's nearing four months after their initial...sexcapade when Santana decides to change the game.

Quinn had left before her last class on Friday, her desire to see Santana stronger than her desire to _learn_ and maybe that was the second warning, but Quinn doesn't care. She worries about seeming needy the whole train ride there because Santana had just left New Haven on Monday and it had literally only been four days. She's worried about being needy and Santana having company that Quinn doesn't really want to see. She's worried about all of that, until Santana opens her apartment door and just _smiles_ at Quinn like she was making Santana's day.

It's curious, Quinn knows, that Santana's reaction alone makes her day.

Something is changing, something deep and eternal is changing and Quinn doesn't know if she should brace herself for it or stop it now. She continues on because she's already here and she already feels better, less lonely, less like Q and more like _Quinn_.

"Couldn't stay away from me that long, huh?" Santana asks with her signature smirk, her hand on her hip and her body stepping to the side to let Quinn in.

Santana's wearing another obscenely short dress (seriously, that thing should be considered a shirt) and Quinn pushes down the urge to pull it down. That wouldn't be something she could brush off, that isn't something that friends do.

"Don't flatter yourself." Quinn answers, making sure that her body brushes against Santana's as she passes by. Santana's breath hitches and Quinn automatically starts tallying up the points, just like she always does. "I just had an itch to see you."

First point: Quinn.

Santana shut the door behind Quinn and turned around. Her eyebrow is raised in amusement and Quinn knows that Santana already has a comeback. "We both know how excellent I am at scratching itches."

Second point: Santana.

Quinn rolled her eyes. Santana was always exceptionally good at turning every one of their conversations into some weird sexual innuendo. She doesn't protest Santana's comment though, because it's more of a fact and they both know it.

She hears a cough come from her side and turns to see Rachel, her face morphed into a look of contempt. "I swear to Barbra that if I catch you guys doing it on the table again-"

"You'll what, Rachel?" Santana asks sweetly, almost sickeningly so. "Join in?"

Third point: Santana.

Rachel looks horrified as she sputters. "Wh-yo-_no_. You are vile, Santana Lopez."

Santana shrugs carelessly in a way that Quinn finds incredibly attractive. "It's a part of my charm."

It goes to show how much has changed in four months because she doesn't even care that Rachel and Kurt know about their...bonding experiences. In fact, she cares so little that she's counting down the minutes until Rachel leaves. She's counting down the minutes until she can take Santana against the wall. Because that's where her priorities are these days.

Rachel shrugs and grabs her purse, making sure to shoot a friendly smile Quinn's way. "I have to go meet Daniel."

"Daniel?" Quinn questions.

Santana waves her hand dismissively. "Her new thing of the week."

Rachel narrows her eyes at Santana but it's clear that she's doing it in an affectionate way. How the times have truly changed. "Try not to have sex on my throw blanket. My daddy made it for me."

"We don't just have sex, Rach, jeez. We do other things, too." Santana replied, seemingly miffed that Rachel would assume that that's all they do. Even though Quinn was under the same impression.

Rachel paused, her hand on the door. She shot Santana a look of disbelief. "Sure." And with that, Rachel opened the door and exited the apartment.

"We do more than have sex." Santana grumbled to no one in particular. Quinn didn't agree or disagree because she wasn't entirely certain what the big deal was. Yes, they had a lot of sex, and yes, that was part of the reason why Quinn was so entranced with Santana these days.

There were other things, too, of course. But right now her hormones were hollering at her and her eyes were raking over Santana's dress, and she honestly had no desire to do anything but fuck Santana.

Quinn dropped her bag on the floor and walked over towards Santana, effectively trapping her in between Quinn and the table. Santana wrapped her arms around Quinn's neck on instinct and it should be scary, that this level of intimacy feels natural, but it doesn't. Quinn leans in, her lips inches from Santana's. "We do?"

Santana's gaze is hooded and Quinn knows that it's about to be _on_. "We do other things."

"Like what?" Quinn asks, her nose nuzzling Santana's cheek. God, she always feels incredibly animalistic with Santana and it's strange, but only because she enjoys it.

"We're friends, too." Santana says, offhandedly, and she trembles as Quinn's hand slides past her ribs and the hem of her dress, before she slips her hand underneath Santana's dress to caress her thigh.

Quinn nodded, pretending to be serious. "Totally. The best of friends, actually."

"Don't patronize me."

Quinn laughs, her lips hovering over Santana's again. "I'm not. But if you'd rather we did something friend-like right now, then I can stop."

Santana's grip tightened around Quinn's shoulders. "Don't you fucking dare, Fabray." Her voice is cut off when Quinn slips two fingers inside of her, without warning. "I promised Rachel we wouldn't have sex against the table again."

All the points: Quinn.

Quinn shrugged, not really caring. Her desire to possess and secure incredibly strong. "We've never been very good at keeping promises."

It's a lot more honest than Quinn wanted to be right now, because as Santana closes her eyes and wraps her legs around Quinn's back, Quinn can only think that it's incredibly true. They've never been good at keeping promises. Including the ones they made to each other.

Including the ones that Quinn has made to herself.

* * *

Santana's holding Quinn in a way that makes her feel incredibly secure, in a way Quinn just doesn't understand, when she changes the game.

Santana's hand is caressing Quinn's stomach affectionately, and Quinn would be insecure about her belly if this was any other time, she would be if Santana allowed her. "You don't have to leave your bag on the floor anymore. I cleared out a drawer for you."

Quinn freezes (which is silly, really, because the only thing she was moving towards was _sleep_). Her throat is dry and Santana doesn't seem to notice the change in Quinn's demeanor.

"What?"

Santana hums in content. "I cleared out my bottom drawer for you. It's not much space considering I literally own a third of a living room. But, it's a place for you to leave your clothes. Just in case you ever stay longer."

It's not much, especially in the grand scheme of things, but it's still a lot more than Santana has ever given her. Hell, it's a lot more than Quinn has ever willingly been given, and it makes her panic. She's tallying the points and the days now and everything is heavily pointing towards relationship, and God, how had she not seen this coming?

She has a drawer and if she isn't careful, she'll start to believe that she has a home, too.

Quinn sits up abruptly, shaking Santana's body off of her. "Um, I should probably go."

Santana follows suit, quickly. It's her turn to be confused. Santana makes one move and Quinn automatically makes three in return. "What?"

"It's just...we...you gave me a drawer, Santana."

Santana pulled the sheet up to cover her bare chest, suddenly uncomfortable with being so open. "Yeah, I did. Because I actually like having you around and I thought you felt the same."

Quinn is sliding out of Santana's twin sized bed, her hand reaching for her sundress on pure instinct. "I do, I _do_." Quinn emphasizes, because she wants to be honest. She doesn't know why but she wants to be honest. "I just..."

"You just?"

Quinn slips her sundress on, completely forgoing her bra, and throws her hands up in exasperation. "Why?"

"Why, what?" Santana ask, ls, her face starting to twitch in irritation.

"Why are you doing this? Why now? What...what do you want from me?" Quinn rambles, not really certain where she was going with this. "We're not in a relationship. This isn't...that."

"Calm your tits, Fabray." Santana snaps as she slides out of her bed. Santana ignores her dress on the floor and just continues to stand there, naked. It's fitting that in moments like these, Quinn is the cautious one. She's the one who needs to be covered while Santana is fine with being bare. "I'm not asking you to move in with me and start wearing a shit ton of flannel. I'm just saying..."

"What? What are you saying?"

Santana narrows her eyes, her mind already on offense. "I'm just saying that I like you, okay? For fucks sake, I enjoy your damn presence and I...I like the idea of this just being an us thing."

Quinn shudders, not really sure how to take Santana's statement. A part of her is excited beyond belief because someone _finally_ wants her, and not just some idea of her. A part of her is skeptical, because she plotted her way into this new development and now she was terrified that Santana was suddenly doing the same.

Nobody wanted Quinn just to want her. There had to be a reason.

"Is this a joke?" Quinn asks, not really certain.

Santana deflates and Quinn can just feel that things are changing. The air around them is different. It's not electric anymore, it's...needy. "God, Quinn. Can you stop being a fucking souless sucker for a minute and just acknowledge that we're good together?"

Quinn pondered Santana's question before settling on something akin to agreement. "We are."

"So why can't we just try it?" Santana asked, her body moving towards Quinn cautiously, as if she was a frightened creature.

Perhaps she was.

"I'm not gay." Quinn says, even though it's pointless because the past four months clealry state otherwise.

Santana rolls her eyes and keeps moving forward. Slowly, always slowly when it comes to Quinn. "Sure."

Quinn licks her lips. "I don't have a good track record."

Santana shrugs, her breasts moving with her shoulders. "I know, it's the thing I like most about you."

"We're not friends."

"We probably won't ever be." Santana says, her head nodding in silent agreement.

Quinn hesitates, her mind trying to come up with excuses only to fall flat. "I'll hurt you."

Santana grabs Quinn's hips and sighs. "I'm a big girl."

Quinn's shoulders shake and she suddenly realizes that she's crying, that she's been crying. Santana's fingers are quick to swype them away, just like she's been quick to clean up all of Quinn's messes. "You'll hurt me."

Santana shrugs dismissively. "Probably."

"You'll leave me."

Santana stops and for a second and Quinn thinks that Santana's eyes water. It's heartbreaking, what Santana's been reduced to. What she's reducing Quinn to. "I don't want to." It's not a promise because it's better, at least for now. Santana knows the power of promises, she knows because she made them to Brittany, right before she broke them. "Just _stay_ tonight. We'll get drunk, make fun of Rachel, and steal Kurt's boyfriend pillow. It'll be just like normal."

Quinn nods even though she knows it won't, even though she knows that it isn't. It's like she's Alice and she's tumbling down the rabbit hole-except, she's honestly too far gone to care.

* * *

It's hours later when Rachel and Kurt finally get home.

Quinn and Santana are sitting in the living room on opposite sides of the small table, each holding a bottle of tequila and wearing nothing but PJ bottoms and a bra. There's cards dealt out in front of them and Quinn has her face scrunched together, because she's really trying to focus.

"Should I be concerned by how easily they can procure alcohol?" Rachel asked, her purse dropping onto their kitchen table with a plop.

Kurt shrugs, his body already heading towards the two tipsy cheerios. "I think you should be more concerned by the fact that every time we come home, they're at least partially naked."

"This is bikini wear, sir." Santana says, her hand (the one that's holding the Tequila) gesturing towards him sloppily. She then points to her top (which, technically, is bikini wear) and grins.

Kurt rolls his eyes affectionately and all Quinn can think is that everyone else has taken to rolling their eyes a lot more than they used to. It seems that along with picking up Santana in the past six months, they've also picked up her habits. He slides off his shoes and plops down next to Quinn, welcoming the bottle that she hands him. "You bitches are crazy."

Rachel laughs, her body following Kurt's earlier footsteps. She slides her boots off and places them next to Kurt's before kneeling down next to Santana. "He loves it."

"We both do." Kurt corrects.

Rachel nods and grabs the bottle from Santana, ignoring her protest. "Yes, we both do. And we both love you, as well."

Kurt raised his eyebrows. "I wouldn't go that far."

Quinn smacked his shoulder and laughed when Kurt yelped. He quickly took a swig of Tequila and watched as Rachel did the same, not concerned with anything other than the fact that it was Friday and that they were going to have fun. Rachel smiled affectionately and it warmed Quinn's heart because somehow this little place of weirdness (this little home that Kurt, Rachel, and Santana had built) made her feel at ease. It made her feel like she belonged, and she didn't understand why now (of all the times in her life) she has to grow a freaking conscience.

Rachel cleared her throat, effectively grabbing everyone's attention. "So, what's the game of choice?"

Santana grinned playfully. "Strip poker."

Kurt shook his head and took another swig of Tequila and Rachel just looked on in outrage. "I'm starting to think you have an ulterior motive to get everyone naked."

Santana glanced over towards Quinn, her eyes shy and her smirk devious. "Not everyone."

* * *

It's nearing midnight when Quinn decides that she's had too much to drink.

She seems to be in a pattern whenever it comes to Santana because all she ever does around that girl is indulge herself. Immediately Quinn feels the urge to break it and change it and be someone new, but then she looks over at Santana (who's wearing nothing but a bra and booty shorts while Kurt is standing next to her in a tshirt and boxers) and watches as her sometimes friend/more times enemy/most times lover tries to do the Single Ladies dance with Kurt. It's almost _too_ good to watch because Santana is open and free and all of the things she's never been with Quinn, all of the things that Quinn has never been capable of being.

It's a beautiful sight but it's also heartbreaking, because Quinn is starting to think she doesn't know who she is anymore. She started this whole thing with one plan in mind and now she was gearing towards something that was totally opposite, and she was enjoying it.

She turns her attention to Rachel. It's always been easier to be honest with the girl who's never expected anything from Quinn. It also really helps that she's incredibly drunk. "Hey Rach?"

Rachel 'hmm's' in response.

Quinn turns her body so that she's facing Rachel directly and lays her hands on the coffee table. "Do you ever get scared?"

Rachel frowns. "Of what?"

Quinn takes a deep breath because she knows that she's too intoxicated to stop, and once she gets on a roll...well, she just keeps going. "Of growing up and growing old but still staying the same?"

"Sure."

Quinn frowns. She doesn't feel like Rachel really heard the question. "Do you ever get scared of dying? Of living and breathing and trying on this earth, only to not matter? Only so you can be forgotten?"

Rachel tenses and Quinn just knows that Rachel heard her this time. Rachel looks at her and it's one of those rare moments where Quinn feels like she's actually seeing her. She smiles sadly, and maybe it's a sign of how similar they've always been, maybe it's just whatever. All Quinn knows is that Rachel is just as honest with Quinn, as Quinn was honest to her, if not more so. Rachel smiles sadly and reaches for Quinn's hand, covering it with her own.

"All the time."

* * *

Quinn wakes up the next morning to Kurt spooning her from behind and her head pounding.

It's probably a stupid thought, but she thinks that she might be getting too old for this because the hangovers are starting to take their toll. Sure, it's a slightly ridiculous notion since she's almost nineteen. It's just, when you have alcoholics for parents, this shit starts early. She was drowning her sorrows in more than just cheerios way before fake ids came along.

Anyway, she's hopping over Kurt when she hears Santana's, Kurt's, and Rachel's ridiculous answering machine greeting. It's ridiculous because nobody even owns a landline anymore, and even more ridiculous because the greeting is basically just the three of them bickering.

It all just seems so _easy_ and simple and Quinn just doesn't know how to take it. She doesn't know what to do with friends or Santana, so when the voicemail starts to play and Quinn hears the message the caller leaves, she lets her heart sink (only to feel relieved a moment later).

She's standing there, hovering over the machine like it just told her that she's a wizard, and she has absolutely no idea what to do with herself. It's the first time in her life (aside from being pregnant) where Quinn doesn't even have a plan.

She rubs her hand over her face in exasperation. She had known, god how she had _known_ what she was getting herself into, and she had still went along with it anyway. It was her biggest fault (and believe her, she had many), the utter desire to not be alone.

She stands there long enough for Santana to take notice. Santana sits up and stumbles over to Quinn, this ridiculously cheesy smile on her face, and Quinn can only think that Santana is still drunk. She isn't that open and affectionate with Quinn, nobody ever is without an ulterior motive.

"Baby, what are you doing?" Santana asks, and it's all the confirmation Quinn needs. Santana is still drunk, she has to be, because she hasn't ever used pet names with Quinn before.

It hurts, God how it hurts to know that Santana's words were never really meant for her. It hurts even more for Quinn to finally acknowledge that this is as far as they could go. She hits the play button on Santana's answering machine and watches as Santana's face changes along with the words.

_Santana: "Hey."_

_Kurt: "Hello."_

_Rachel "Cheers!"_

_Santana: "You've reached the Lopez, Berry, and Hummel residence. No, it's not a cereal company. Yes, we're not home. So leave a message after the beep, you hear?"_

_Rachel: "Santana, must you always sound so unprofessional?"_

_Kurt: "I don't like it. Why is my name always last?"_

_Santana: "This is the seventh one we've done. I'm not doing this shit anymore."_

_Rachel: "You are useless to me."_

_Kurt: "Seriously, can't we just say the names alphabetically? Why am I always last?"_

_Santana: "You know what? Screw you g-*beeeeeeep*_

"_Hey, San, it's me."_ A voice filters through and Quinn watches as Santana's face takes on a look of panic at hearing Brittany's voice. "_Me is Brittany, in case you got confused or somebody else sounds like me. I know that you wanted to come down next month for a few days and hang out, but I was thinking you could come down next week? It's short notice but Lord Tubbington is back in rehab and he suggested that I let you use his spot in bed while he's gone so that I don't feel as lonely. I do, ya know, feel lonely. I miss you and your sweet lady kisses. I'm really happy you're talking to me again and not just because you think I need help. Anyway, call me back on the phone. Not, like, with your mind, because I still haven't figured out how to answer your mental calls yet. Love you, San!"_

Santana looks horrified as the message comes to an end and Quinn feels cheated. She doesn't know why, but she feels cheated and bested and ashamed. Santana tries to reach for Quinn, only for her to swat Santana's hand away.

"Quinn, listen, it isn't what it sounds like."

Quinn crosses her arms over her chest, every part of her already defensive. "Really? Because it sounds like you're going back to fucking Lima to be with your ex-girlfriend. It sounds like you were planning to visit Brittany without ever telling me."

Santana shakes her head, ignoring the grumbling that's coming from the living room. "It isn't like that."

Quinn doesn't like it, not one bit, because Santana isn't challenging her right now, she isn't fighting Quinn and it's making this conversation all the more harder. "Then what's it like?"

"You know what?" Santana asks, her body going rigid. "You don't get to fucking do this, okay? You don't get to treat me like a fucking lay for four months and then turn around and act like my fucking girlfriend. I'm not putting up with that shit, Fabray."

"I'm not your girlfriend." Quinn answers. It's the only thing that Quinn really heard and the first thing she has to protest.

Santana snorts. "No shit, you've made that abundantly clear."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Santana licked her lips, her eyes softening. "It means that I'm nobody's lap dog, okay? You either want me or you don't Fabray, but I can't just wait around for you to grow a pair. It's killing me."

Quinn's nostrils flared at Santana's statement. She made sure to shoot Santana her hardest glare because she was just that angry. "It's killing you? What about what it's doing to _me_?" Quinn asked, her index finger poking herself in the chest for emphasis. "You think it's been easy for me to pretend like this was some casual fling? You think I enjoy pretending like I'm not waiting for the other shoe to drop, for you to realize I'm not Brittany? You think I like being Quinn Fabray? Because let me tell you something." Quinn stepped forward and jabbed her finger into Santana's shoulder. "I hate it. I despise being me. I hate being alone and feeling unwanted. I hate how when I walk through the hallways at Yale, the only thing people want to say about me is that I'm _pretty_. I hate that you found friends and a life when all I found was sadness. I hate that this is my life, that you _left _me behind in your quest of emotional development. I hate that you're changing and I'm not because we've always been the same Santana, and I won't be able to handle the day when we're not."

Santana looks horrified, like she had no idea that Quinn was capable of saying such things, and it's wrong. Everything is just all wrong. "_Quinn._" Santana starts, her voice cracking. "You have to know th-"

"Know what?" Quinn asked, effectively cutting Santana off. "Know that I'm not Brittany? Know that I'm just a filler? Know that I'm just keeping the seat warm for her return?"

Santana shakes her head, her disagreement swift and evident. "No. You have to know that I...I."

"You what?"

Santana steeled her shoulders, her hands finding purchase on her waist. "That I think I could...that I want...God, I want you, okay? I want you to be my friend who's a girl who I see all the time. I want us to be exclusive. I want you to stop going on friend dates with that dude Jake, because he obviously wants into your pants and the only one who should be going there is me, and I don't want to have to kick his ass. I mean, I will, because he sounds like a pansy, but i'd prefer not to. I want us to be sappy together and have sex all over Rachel's furniture, even though she tells us not to. I want all of that because I get you, Quinn Fabray, and you get me, and the sex is freaking fantastic. And yeah, maybe we'll be a sappy as shit couple. Although, really, I doubt it, because we're both so freaking awesome. Anyway, maybe we'll turn out like that, but at least we'll be together. And we'll have tons and tons of sex."

Quinn looks at Santana and sees the eager expression that's written all over her face and it just hits her. It hits Quinn that she's broken and that all of this time she's been depending on Santana to hold her together. But Santana isn't broken. Cracked, maybe, but never broken.

It hits Quinn that she's depressed, majorly. She's depressed and disconnected from the world. Maybe that's the way that she likes it, maybe that's the way she was always meant to be. Maybe this was her cross to bear. It feels like this whole experience was all one big hoax that the universe has been pulling on her this whole time.

Either way, Santana didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve the shell of a girl who existed _once_. She deserved someone who existed always and wholeheartedly with very little regrets.

Quinn steadies herself and bites her lip. She tells herself that this is best (just like she's always done), except this time it's different. Yes, it's what she thinks is best, but this time it's for someone else other than Quinn.

It's a sign that she's changing and a reminder that she hasn't changed enough.

"I think it's time for me to go." Quinn says, because for once, she actually thinks it's true.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Underneath all of my angst, I'm pretty much a sap. So this probably steered cheesy at certain points, but you know, cheesy people exist...so yeah :). That's also why these two parts are split up. I feel like they represent two very different Quinn's. The before and after. Also, I realize that this story has some similarities with another story I wrote. To be honest, I'm obsessed with certain ideas taking place. Also, I really enjoy commas...please let me know if you enjoyed this. I've been losing my writing motivation lately. I don't know if I like this. Let me know what you guys think._

_A/N 2: More notes at the end._

* * *

**You're So Mean When You Talk (About Yourself)**

**(Part Two of Two)**

The hardest thing in life for Quinn has always been separating herself from the things that she wanted. It's the reason why she was fat, the reason why she had tried so hard to hold on to Finn. Quinn was a self indulger if there ever was one and right now she just really wanted to indulge in Santana's fantasies.

But she couldn't be that girl because she _wasn't_. She didn't know how to be that girl, how to stop caring and to stop plotting or how to stop being so spiteful. She didn't know how to let anyone in or how to properly keep anyone out (at least not anymore).

She blames Santana as she's making her way towards the train station (her sundress sloppy because she's worn it two days in a row and her bag oddly heavy). At least, she wants to, because Quinn doesn't know when she stopped wanting Santana and started needing Santana instead, and that can't be Quinn's fault. That can't be her fault at all. She doesn't know how to need things properly, she only knows how to take, so Santana must have changed her somehow.

It isn't until she's sitting on the train home that she decides it's for the worse, because she doesn't think Quinn Fabray could ever change for the better.

* * *

A few days pass and her phone never stops beeping, so she shuts the thing off. She throws herself into schoolwork and her roommates dating problems because it's easier to to a student than it is to pretend like she doesn't care.

The worst thing about all of this isn't the fact that Quinn feels incredibly inadequate (because believe it or not she's pretty much made inadequacy her friend). No, that isn't it, and it isn't even the fact that she knows she was only a filler for the main show. Those things she expected because that's the way her life has always gone, but the worst thing is that Quinn can't stop caring.

She doesn't stop caring about Santana and she can't help but be concerned.

It's too much, it's way too much for a girl who's been numb to everything for the past few years. It's too much for the girl who plotted and schemed and arranged a way to screw over every single person she ever came across. She's good at that, good at being evil and horrible and awful. But this? God, Quinn was failing at this because it felt like some flip was _switched_ and suddenly all these feelings just wanted to settle inside of her.

It was irritating and strange and too much to handle. Quinn tries to tell her body to stop, she tries to tell her mind to go back to the girl she was four years ago, but it's too late. Parts of Quinn are already changing and there's she can really do to stop it.

The feelings overwhelm her. They overwhelm her and her hands itch to dial Santana's number. Her hands itch and her mind races and she finds herself spending days thinking about tan skin and biting remarks.

If only she wasn't too headstrong to go back. If only she wasn't absolutely afraid of rejection.

If only Quinn was as strong as Santana, as the girl she pretended to be, then she could go back and claim what she wanted to be hers. But she knows better, she's seen love change into something vile and she's seen love trap someone. She watched her mother turn from a lovely woman into something that was to be controlled.

Quinn shakes her head again, shaking away the thoughts that have been sinking in ever since she left Santana's. She's tried to stop her mind from running around in circles, she's tried to stop herself from returning to thoughts from that day, but she's never been good at ignoring the things she wanted.

Quinn grunts in frustration and shoves her Statistics homework away, already certain that she isn't going to get very far tonight. She doesn't understand what's wrong with her. It had been her idea to use Santana, it had been her idea to continue sleeping with her even though she had known it would end badly. It had all been Quinn's plan, so why did she feel like she was the one suffering?

There's a bing on her computer and Quinn turns her head, curious to see if it's her roommate Skyping her again. She sees Rachel's name on the screen and decides to accept the call. Just because she was shutting out Santana (only until she could figure out what was happening, only until Quinn could come up with a plan) didn't mean that she wanted to shut out Quinn, too.

Quinn clicked the answer button and tried to put on a happy smile. "Hey Rach."

Rachel's face appeared on the screen. She was wearing her zebra print pajamas and had her hair up in a bun. "Quinn! I've been trying to reach you for days."

"Yeah..." Quinn trailed off. "I've been...busy." Quinn finished lamely.

Rachel rolled her eyes, seemingly clued into the fact that Quinn was lying. "Sure, okay."

"So, what's up?" Quinn asked, trying to avoid the one thing she really wanted to ask about.

"You tell me."

Quinn froze. "What?"

"Tell me why Santana hasn't left her corner of the living room in two days. Which, might I add, is incredibly inconvenient for our guests. She's moping and lashing out and it's more cruel than usual. So, tell _me_. What is going on?"

There's a question in Rachel's answer. A Question underneath her question. Something she's not really saying but that Quinn knows she wants the answer to, and Quinn wants to give her that. She wants to give Rachel the thoughts that have been plaguing her lately because maybe Rachel can make sense of it all, but it's hard to put into words. Everything up until now is hard to put into words.

She can't help but wonder if anyone else has felt like this. So messed up, confused, and absolutely at a loss. Quinn wants to explain that to Rachel but she has a feeling that even if she could explain it, Rachel just wouldn't get it.

"It was only a matter of time." Quinn settles on, even though that isn't what she really wants to say.

Rachel huffs and Quinn feels like a scolded child. "You know, for a girl who got into Yale, you keep acting like someone of below average intelligence."

Quinn frowned, her back pressing into the back of her chair. "Did you just insult me?"

Rachel waved Quinn off. "It's a minor side effect from living with Santana. Anyway, my point is that you're being an idiot."

"I gathered that."

Rachel continued on, ignoring Quinn's interruption. "Quinn, I know it's not really any of my business and I don't claim to know where either of you are truly coming from...I just, she misses you."

Quinn snorted. "Yeah, right."

"No, really." Rachel says sincerely, her head bobbing in agreement. "She misses you. Of course she won't admit it out loud, but she keeps yelling expletives in Spanish and then breaks one of my plates against the wall. Quinn," Rachel said seriously, her face leaning towards the camera. "I'm running out of plates."

Quinn smiled at the mental picture of Santana throwing plates against the wall. That sounds exactly like how Santana would cope with something and Quinn can't help but think of Santana fondly. "I'm sorry to hear that Rachel, but I don't know how that concerns me."

"Cut the crap, Quinn. We've always been honest with each other so don't stop now."

Quinn sighed, her fingers twitching against the her table and her mind pushing the idea to just _run_. "Santana and I are done. There's nothing left that could possibly concern me."

"Why?" Rachel demands, and Quinn wants to hit her. Rachel has never been this demanding of her and Quinn doesn't like it.

"Brittany." Quinn answers, because it's enough of a reason. Hell, it _is _the reason.

Rachel sighs. "For such a pretty girl, you have such a low sense of self worth."

"Excuse me?"

Rachel leaned back and licked her lips. "No offense, Quinn, but you're giving yourself excuses. Brittany hasn't been relevant for quite some time now and a part of you knows that." Quinn doesn't say anything and it's the answer Rachel needs to continue. "You're scared and you're too much of a coward to admit why you're scared. But let me tell you something, Quinn, all of us are scared. We all have fears, okay? Don't let them take over you. Don't let them ruin a good thing."

"How would you even know?" Quinn snaps, her irritation rising at Rachel's insinuations. "You know nothing about my relationship with Santana and you know nothing about how she truly is. You're just a person who's kind enough to let her use their couch because she has absolutely nowhere else to go, but she'll leave you, too, Rachel. It's what she does. It's what she's good at. She left me for Brittany, Brittany for school, school for New York, and New York for me. It's what she does to survive. It's how she's always been. She takes what she needs and then she goes, and I don't want to still be here waiting when she finally decides she's done taking from me. I will not be my mother."

Rachel's mouth is hanging open as Quinn's chest heaves, her breath coming in bursts. Rachel snapped her mouth closed and hardened her gaze and it hits Quinn then that maybe Rachel's changed, too, maybe they all have. "You're a fool, Quinn Fabray. You're a fool if you think she doesn't love you and you're a fool if you actually believe that that's the type of person Santana is now. God, who are you these days?"

Rachel doesn't even give Quinn a chance for a rebuttal. She doesn't even tell Quinn goodbye. Instead she logs off of Skype, quickly ending their conversation.

A part of Quinn knows that she deserved it (because everything that's ever happened to her she must have _deserved_) but in the end, it still hurts. It hurts because Rachel's words feel a lot like she's picking sides and Quinn doesn't know if that means she's lost Rachel too.

The worst part is that when she looks in the mirror that night she sees herself looking back, but she doesn't feel like Quinn anymore.

* * *

The gang in New York pretty much leaves her alone after that.

It's sad, because now Quinn feels truly alone, but also satisfying because she feels _right_. She feels like she called this from the get-go and everyone else was just proving her point.

A part of her, a tiny part, wonders what it'd be like if Santana had loved her as much as she loved Brittany. Would she have made an epic declaration of love? Would she have chased Quinn down? Would she have shot down every single one of Quinn's fears and replaced them with ideas of love?

Quinn doesn't know that, of course, she can only guess with things like that. It's dumb to wonder about such things, but at the same time...maybe that's the truest and shiniest example of how far Quinn's come? The fact that she can't do anything but constantly wonder about all the what-if's, maybe's, and could haves that might have taken place between her and Santana.

Maybe it's reckless to indulge in such things. But she's always been an indulger and Santana's always been reckless, so maybe Quinn was turning into some weird version of the two?

Whatever it was that was happening with her, Quinn could definitely feel it. She could feel it in the way that her heart ached, in the way she cried at sappy love movies, in the way that her eyes would zone in on her phone every time it would ring. Quinn could feel it in the way that Yale started to feel less like her solace and more like her prison.

Her mind drifted to Santana more than she wanted it to and less than she thought it would. And when Quinn's mind would drift, her fingers would as well. They would itch and Quinn would become overwhelmed with the desire to call Santana. She wanted to call and speak to her best friend, she wanted to call and tell Santana about all the things that were changing, all the things that Santana had somehow changed within her (when she wasn't even trying), but Quinn was still afraid.

Santana's interest had taken a dive after the first few weeks of Quinn ignoring her every attempt at contact. Sure, it made sense, but at the same time Quinn figured that if Santana had really been interested...well, she would have kept trying.

Maybe her ideas were jaded and maybe she was in the wrong, but those were things Quinn couldn't take away overnight. Not even if she wanted to.

* * *

It's nearing the end of Summer vacation when Quinn gets the call that changes her life.

People like to say that the biggest changes take place over the course of time. But Quinn knows better. Real change is abrupt, it happens in an instant. It takes place in a moment, a memory, a *second*. Change is quick and unforgiving, it's the acknowledgement of that change that truly takes forever. It takes a long time for everyone else to notice it. Real change is quick and harsh and leaves no room for you to breathe, it only leaves room for you to adjust.

She's leaving the college bookstore (her summer job since she had declined her mother's invitation to come home for the summer) and nearly at her dorm door when her phone started buzzing. She has her hopes but she also has her realities, and her heart doesn't ache that much when the caller id says _mom_ instead of _Santana_.

"Hello?" Quinn says as she shoves her phone in between her ear and her shoulder.

"Quinnie?" A voice filters through and Quinn freezes outside of her dorm door, her hand on the handle. She always hated that nickname.

"Mom?"

There's a laugh and it's the confirmation Quinn was looking for, even though she doesn't understand how anything from this barely-started-conversation could be funny. Judy sighs. "Quinnie, I needed to talk to you about your major."

Quinn opens her door, confusion written all over her face. "My major?"

Her mother hums in agreement. "Your father just noticed that your major says Literature instead of Business."

"That's because it is. I told you this during Thanksgiving break, remember?" Quinn asks, confused as to why her mother was bringing this up now.

Judy sighs and it's the only warning that Quinn needs. Things were about to go extremely bad, extremely quick. "The thing is, Quinnie, your father would feel a lot more comfortable if you chose to pursue a degree in business instead." Her mother's voice sounds concerned but Quinn knows what she's really saying. What she's really saying is Russell Fabray won't allow it just like he won't allow so many other things.

Quinn shuts her door behind her and sits down on her bed, trying not to sound like a stubborn child. "But I don't want a business degree."

"Sweetie," Judy starts, even though her voice is anything but. "Your father is getting older, do you really want to disappoint him?"

This moment says a lot about where she comes from and who her family is. It says a lot about her so called parents, that they'd rather manipulate her and force her into a future that they wanted (that she despised) all because it would make them feel better. All because it'd boost the way they feel about themselves and the stupid image they project. "What does that have to do anything?"

"It's just that-you're so young. Do you really know what's best for yourself? Your father has lived a long time on this earth."

It says a lot more that her family tries to use age against her. Like old age is anything to feel sorry for. Like youth is anything she should have to apologize for. Quinn braces herself and tries to sound calm. "Mother. This is what I want."

Judy sighs the sigh she always has when she thinks that Quinn is being difficult. "This is what your father wants."

That's all it takes for Quinn's world to stop, flip, and start all over again. It hits Quinn then that she's been living the majority of her life for someone else. She's been afraid because her parents have made her this way. She wasn't born this girl, she was made this way over time, and she was only doing what they wanted. She was only doing the things they wanted from her because she had been afraid to do otherwise. She hadn't been ready, then, to be completely and utterly alone.

Maybe her parents didn't truly love her, maybe they looked at her like she was some kind of prize, but up until this very moment Quinn had held out hope that maybe some day things would change.

She knows now that they won't.

She knows now that her parents have no real love for her.

Real love isn't about manipulation or owing somebody something. Real love didn't stem from blood or obligation or even debt. Real love came from somewhere within, it made you feel less alone and more whole. Real love drove you crazy and made you feel insecure, but only because it was that great. Real love planted seeds of doubt and well being and thoughts of the future.

Her family knew nothing about real love, her family knew nothing about _love_. They had taught Quinn nothing and expected her to thrive. Maybe if she had stayed in Lima she would have. Maybe if she had stayed behind she would have become exactly like her mother. But things were different now, Quinn was different.

She had escaped, she had left, and yet she was still acting like she was stuck in little old Lima, Ohio. Before Quinn could stop it everything started clicking into place. The drawer, Santana's silence, Rachel's insistence, Santana's desire to have Quinn around, they all led to one thing and Quinn had been a fool to believe otherwise.

They all led to love. Friendship, loyalty, affection, everything Quinn had told herself she was incapable of.

She knows it now, she knows the real reason she had picked Santana. She gets it because underneath all of Quinn's misgivings and faults and discrepancies, there was a girl who was vile and tender and lost. There was a girl who had pushed everyone away. Everyone except Santana.

She gets it now because even though Quinn is all of those things, even though she's never pretended to be otherwise, Santana has continued to stay by her side. Through Cheerios, Glee, pregnancy, The Skanks, Beth again, Yale, a wheelchair...Santana was always there.

Santana had never left her, even when she was at her worst, and that's why she had chosen Santana. Even though she didn't realize it until now.

God, she had made a mistake. She had made such a huge fucking mistake. How had she been so blind? How had she not recognized the signs? How had she not known that she was in love with Santana?

Love, like change, hit Quinn abruptly, and it was minutes before everything around her started changing. Now every memory was hazed over with affection, every thought concerning Santana was laced with possessiveness. Every moment they had spent together was locked away for safekeeping. God, she was turning into Rachel.

If she had the time to panic, she would, but right now there wasn't time for anything except shutting down her mother. Now was the time for change, now was the time for Quinn to stand up for something that she actually wanted.

"I don't care about what he wants, _mother_. It isn't what I want."

"Quinn." Her mother says, her tone exasperated. "If you honestly expect him to dish out money for your education only so that you can pursue whatever hat-trick degree you feel is important, then I must inform you of how selfish you're being."

Quinn snarled, her mom's comment hitting a chord. She tried to stop it, but it was too late, she already saw red. "You know what? I don't need his help. I'll take care of it myself." Quinn doesn't have to add 'just like always' because she knows that it's implied. She hangs up on her mother and doesn't feel guilty about it. She looks around her dorm room and it hits Quinn that she never even wanted this.

She never even wanted Yale to begin with, her parents had, and now that she was separating herself from them the whole place just seemed wrong. It had already seemed wrong to begin with but now it just seemed worse. Yale was practically Lima at this point, neither were her home and neither felt like it.

Quinn sighed. Perhaps it was time for a change of scenery.

* * *

Quinn puts in her transfer to NYU later that day, and really, who didn't see that coming?

It's late but she somehow manages to squeak through. Of course, she's one of the last to be enrolled so she can only register for one class.

Still, Quinn feels free in a way she never thought she would.

Overall, It's oddly reassuring that she's moving to a state with roughly eighteen million people. It's nice to know that even when she's at her lowest, she still couldn't possibly be alone.

Her mother doesn't attempt to call her again and if she's being honest, Quinn is absolutely fine with that. The reins that her family have held on her life are loosening and Quinn knows it.

She can feel it in the way that it's easier to breathe. She can feel it in the way that when her thoughts shuffle towards Santana (which is frequently these days) she doesn't feel guilty anymore.

Her only issue is money.

She still has money stored away from her scholarship and she has the last check her father had sent her for tuition. It's enough to cover a semester at NYU but she needed something else. If she could only find a place to live that would be cheaper than dorms. Not just that, though, she needed an income.

Quinn Fabray needed a job.

* * *

She's halfway through her first week at NYU when Quinn decides to bite the bullet and just call Santana.

She's finished her morning classes and on her way to an interview at a coffee shop (she needs money, quickly, because the dorms are intense and expensive). She's nervous because this feels like a step towards _her_ future and she just really wants to share it with Santana.

She hasn't spent much time on wondering if Santana will take her back, but she hopes that she will. She's not concerned with her sexuality or the fact that Santana's a woman because to Quinn, those worries are meaningless.

She didn't fall in love with the body, she fell in love with the person. Sure, it helps that Santana was smoking hot (as Puck would say) and great at scratching all of Quinn's itches (as Santana would say). Overall, though, Quinn just thinks it's a Santana thing.

Maybe she is gay or maybe she's only gay for santana. Either way, those things change nothing for her. She still wants to be with Santana even though she doesn't know why. She's still in love with Santana (which proves that love is blind because Quinn could have fallen for _anyone_ and instead she fell for the most infuriating, aggravating, challenging, irritating person that Quinn has ever met. And boy does Quinn think she's beautiful. See? Love, man) regardless of all of those things.

So Quinn bites the bullet and dials Santana's number as she's walking down fourth. Nobody knows that she's here yet, she wanted to be situated when she finally made her presence known. But love has made her eager. If she wasn't so infatuated, she would have been disgusted by what she's turned into.

It takes seven rings and Quinn can't deny the fact that it hurts. Santana has never sent her to voicemail before and Quinn wonders if that would be some sort of sign. She sighs, about to give up and end the call, when Santana picks up.

Santana doesn't say anything and it makes sense. This is one of those times where Quinn has to make the first move.

She settles on "hey" because 'I love you' is the climax, and she can't give it away too soon, because that'll ruin the whole plotline.

"Fuck you, Fabray." Santana spits out.

Quinn tries not to wince. "Okay. I deserved that."

"Fuck you." Santana says again, except it has less bite this time.

"Santana," Quinn says, ready to push this conversation forward.

Santana's breath hitches at her name and Quinn has no idea what it means. Santana whispers this time. "Fuck you."

Quinn ignores it and pushes on. "Can we just talk? Please?"

"Fuck. You."

Quinn rolls her eyes, it's like talking to a fucking wall. Still, though, Quinn had to continue. "I miss you." Quinn admits, because it's true and honesty can't hurt her here.

She prepares herself for a repeat of Santana's words. Instead Santana sighs, her voice exhausted.

"Prove it."

It isn't until the dial tone comes through that Quinn realizes Santana hung up on her. Quinn snaps her phone closed with a frown. She has absolutely no idea how to do that.

She's never proven anything in her life and it scares Quinn that Santana's asking her to start now.

* * *

She doesn't really know what she should do and the when she Googles it, the internet just gives her a list of awful eighties movies. Quinn thinks that they're terrible suggestions, and the people on The Tumblr aren't really helpful either.

But she doesn't have many options.

Nobody taught her how to want something and nobody showed her how to fight for people, so Quinn was certainly at a loss right now. Quinn stared at her computer screen and sighed. Was that what she was doing now? Fighting for Santana? God, she only really knows how to fight _with _Santana.

And if she was fighting for Santana, would that require a major declaration of love? Because Quinn isn't so certain she could do that. Plus, she's pretty much tired of singing musical numbers (due to glee), she doesn't own a lawn mower, and today isn't her day off.

_Still_. Quinn doesn't really have that many options and she's pretty much drained her friend faucet.

Quinn sighs again and copies the movie list onto a piece of paper, ignoring how ill she feels on the inside. She didn't do feelings or intimacy so even the idea of such things made her queasy. But she was going to try. She was going to try for Santana because even though she wasn't that girl, Quinn wanted to show Santana that she could try to be.

Also, she has no classes today and eight hours to kill.

* * *

**Ferris Buellers Day Off**

Funny, but no. She doesn't have the manpower for that large of a musical number and she most certainly has no access to a Ferrari. Plus, her parents aren't even talking to her right now.

Quinn huffed. This movie was invalid.

**The Breakfast Club**

Interesting, but still a no. Perhaps this would have worked had Quinn still been stuck in Lima. In fact, a part of her wishes that something like this had happened. Maybe it did. Maybe Glee Club was the modern day Breakfast Club. Either way, this movie wouldn't solve her problem.

Quinn smiled. She really wanted to fist pump in the air now.

**Say Anything**

Clearly, this was the best movie of the bunch. It totally didn't make her cry. Totally.

Quinn looked at the clock and winced when she saw that it read 9:32PM. She had been sitting in the same spot for over five hours. Jesus, no wonder her butt was sore. Quinn sighed and sat up, her back cracking as she straightened. Here she was five hours later and none the wiser.

What was the point of cheesy romantic comedies from the eighties if they didn't teach you anything? Whatever happened to having an actual conversation?

Quinn bit her lip as her eyes glanced at her phone. Maybe she should just try and have a discussion with Santana? Would that be so hard?

Quinn grabbed her phone and decided to chance it.

_Quinn: what would you do if I showed up outside of your apartment with a boombox?_

_Santana: I would punch you in the face and then throw your boombox out the window._

_Quinn: Good to know._

It isn't a very welcoming answer, but Quinn gets the feeling that the point is that Santana answered, that she was _still_ answering. It meant that Quinn had a chance. (Which, maybe that's the whole point of eighties movies. Maybe the point of these movies was that there was always hope for change, that there was always _hope_. All you had to do is try and learn and take a chance.)

* * *

She gets the job at the coffee shop. It isn't where she thought she'd be and on the hardest days (when customers are cruel, the machines aren't working, and the tips are low) Quinn looks out the window and counts all the ways that NYC is different from Ohio.

* * *

This whole experience has taught her one thing. It's taught her that she can't prove anything to Santana until she proves something to herself.

So, Quinn starts with the small things.

She joins a writing club _and_ a GSA at NYU, even though every part of her is screaming to go be a hermit far, far away.

She starts by texting Santana every couple of days. Santana's replies are usually hostile, but hey, Rome wasn't built in a day. Quinn is just grateful that she's still replying at all.

* * *

(The conversations are frequent and very much the same.)

_Quinn: Hey._

_Santana: Hey is for Ass-hats._

_Quinn: I thought it was for horses?_

_Santana: No, it's for Ass-hats._

_Quinn: Well...then, hello._

_Santana: That's for Ass-hats, too. _

_Quinn: Good morning?_

_Santana: Appears to be the same._

_Quinn: I miss you?_

_Santana: ..._

_Santana: Prove it._

* * *

Quinn is a month into the semester when she decides that she's finally _ready_.

The idea of Santana doesn't overwhelm her anymore, it just makes her ache, and maybe that's the first sign. Yes, it's true that she was in love with Santana, but that doesn't mean that she wasn't scared. Love has always terrified her and Quinn had needed some time to prepare herself for such a thing (so that this time she wouldn't go running at the first sight of something that could be more). She had needed time with her insecurities, her desires, and her wants, so that she could grow accustomed to them and figure out which ones were holding her back.

Anyway, she decides she's ready and that she's going to need back up because Santana has always been a great competitor, and Quinn doesn't want to get beaten so early in the game.

She calls Rachel and asks her to meet her at a local Starbuck's. After all, if Quinn's trying to rebuild her broken bridges and erase her worst traits, she should probably start with the easiest ones first.

She sits in the corner and waits for Rachel, sighing in relief when Rachel comes trudging through, a smile on her lips.

"Quinn Fabray, I have most certainly missed you." Rachel says as she leans in to give Quinn a quick hug.

Quinn sits back down on her chair as Rachel sits across from her, and rubs her hands nervously. "I missed you too, Rach."

"You certainly look brighter since the last time we talked." Rachel comments offhandedly. "Anyway, where are my manners? What brings you to New York?"

Quinn bites her lip worriedly, not entirely certain how Rachel would react. "Actually, I, uh...I go to NYU. I live here now." Quinn waved her hand towards the window as if that would paint a better picture.

"Get the fuck out."

Quinn narrowed her eyes. "Excuse me?"

Rachel shrugged. Not really apologetic. Her face was pulled into a look of confusion. "Sorry, you can only spend so much time with a roommate before their vocabulary starts to rub off on you. Although, should I be concerned that Santana still sounds nothing like me?" Rachel looks up at the ceiling in curiosity before meeting Quinn's gaze again. "I digress...anyway, Quinn! That's huge."

"Yeah."

Rachel crosses her legs and Quinn finally acknowledges the fact that Rachel looks different. She's dressed differently, she's wearing make-up, her clothing is shorter and tighter and her heels are killer. If Quinn didn't know any better, she'd say that Rachel looked like _Santana_.

She was totally projecting. Rachel had a simple makeover and now Quinn was projecting. Jesus, what was wrong with her?

Rachel waved her hand in front of Quinn's face, snapping her out of her reverie. "Quinn, I must say that I'm incredibly impressed. Moving to New York City for Santana? That's a romantic gesture if there's ever been one."

"I didn't move here for Santana." Quinn answers with a frown.

Rachel nods, even though it's clear she doesn't agree. "Okay, sure. But I'm assuming that's why you called me down here? I'm here because of Santana?"

"Yes."

Rachel grinned and leaned forward, her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. "Great. Let's discuss all the ways in which you can win her back."

Quinn shook her head frantically. This conversation was quickly pulling away from her. "No, I want to speak with her." Quinn says. "In person." She adds as an afterthought.

Maybe Rachel was just a sucker for love or maybe she was a hopeless romantic who likes happy endings, or maybe she was just truly that good of a friend. Either way, Rachel didn't ask for an apology and she didn't try to stop Quinn. Instead, she smiled and stretched her hand out until it was covering Quinn's.

"Okay."

* * *

Rachel grabs her hand and drags Quinn to her apartment, her smile overwhelmingly positive. Quinn honestly doesn't know if this is really a good idea, but just like all things that concern Santana and Quinn, she moves forward anyway.

They reach Rachel's door quicker than Quinn likes and she doesn't have time to catch her breath before Rachel is throwing open the door carelessly.

Quinn hesitates, one foot in and one foot out, when Rachel pulls her the rest of the way in.

"Santana!" Rachel shouts, and oh no, Quinn is starting to panic. She didn't think things would move this quickly.

"Hobbit!" A voice (coming from somewhere over towards the bathroom) shouts back.

Rachel chuckles. "I got you a present, dimwit."

"It better be a stripper, baby hoe."

Quinn squints at Santana's response. Seriously, what kind of insults were those? They didn't even make sense. Quinn hears footsteps before she sees Santana and she braces herself for whatever is about to come.

It's a good thing she does, too, because as soon as Santana comes into view, Quinn's breath hitches, her knees go weak, and her face flushes. It's cliche, of course it is, but it's also love.

Santana stops when she notices Quinn. She's wearing pajama shorts and a wife beater. Her hair is down and it's crazy how sexy Quinn finds it. Santana points a finger at Quinn, her eyes directed towards Rachel. "What the hell is she doing here?"

Rachel shrugs and gives Santana a lopsided grin. "I actually have to go. I don't know what warning will suffice in this moment, so I'm going to list them all." Rachel turned back towards the door and opened it. "Don't have sex on my furniture, don't break anything, don't kill each other. Santana." Rachel looked over her shoulder. "Don't throw any dishes, please. I just got a new set." Rachel stepped outside. "Have fun!"

Santana stares at Quinn as the door shut, her expression unreadable. "What brings you here, Q?"

There's a lot of things Quinn could say right now, but they'd be filler. She's tired of wasting time when she should just be enjoying it.

"You."

It's no giant-eighties-love-declaration, but for Quinn it's _monumental._

Santana nods, her expression unchanging. "I gave you space."

"I know."

Santana crosses her arms over her chest, her eyes downcast and focusing intently on her feet. "I gave you _time_."

"I know." Quinn says, again.

Santana meets Quinn's gaze again and it's a relief because Quinn can finally see anger in those eyes. "I gave you a drawer."

"I'm here." Quinn says, changing tactics.

"You're four months late."

Quinn curled her fists, the desire to run becoming stronger with the moment. No, she needed to do this. She needed to prove that she was different, that she was trying, that this could _work._ "I'm here _now._"

Santana shrugged, her feet glued to the floor. "That proves nothing."

"I don't go to Yale anymore." Quinn offers, her hands at her sides.

Santana eyes Quinn curiously. "That proves something."

"I go to NYU now. I live here." Quinn gestured towards the door, even though it wasn't needed.

"Better."

Quinn rolls her eyes and takes a step forward. "I'm sorry."

Santana doesn't buy it. "Sure."

"I like you." Quinn says, even though it's unnecessary because who would have sex with someone they didn't like for four months and then show up four months later to get said person back?

"Okay."

Quinn feels anger bubble underneath the surface. "I want to date you."

"Obviously, I'm fucking fantastic." Santana scoffs and it's the first sign that the old Santana is still in there, that this whole thing just might go Quinn's way.

Quinn hesitates before deciding to just lay it out there. She has nothing to lose from this, nothing at all, and at the very least...well, she'll know that she gave everything she had to this. Quinn takes another step forward as well as a deep breath.

"I love you."

Santana freezes. Her body goes rigid and her eyes are hard. "What?"

"I love you." Quinn repeats. She must admit, it's much easier the second time.

Santana's eyes widen, the hardness quickly leaving. "Are you serious?"

"Unfortunately."

Santana takes a step forward. "I ask you to prove it and you go all sap-shit on me. What the hell am I supposed to do with that, Quinn?"

Quinn would have been offended if Santana hadn't laughed at the end, her eyes twinkling and her dimples showing. It's weird, Quinn thinks, that she wants to have Santana look like that more often.

If someone would have told her four years ago that she'd be here doing _this_ she probably would have cut them. But that's how life works sometimes. There's no amount of plotting, planning, or conniving that could prepare you for the loops that life often decides to throw at you.

Quinn shrugs, taking the final step forward until Santana and her were standing directly in front of each other. Santana's arms are uncrossed now and Quinn decides that she likes this look on her. she likes it when Santana looks welcoming and shy and earnest.

"You could say it back. Or you could kiss me. Or you could pretend I had a boombox and a mower. Oh! You could pump your fist into the air slowly, that seems cool."

Santana is eyeing Quinn curiously again and Quinn blushes underneath her gaze. She raises her hands and shrugs. "Sorry, I've been watching a lot of eighties movies lately."

Santana laughs, she actually laughs at that, and it's nice to hear such a thing after the past few months Quinn's had. Santana's smile fades and she grabs Quinn's hand. "This doesn't make things better, you know?"

"I know." Quinn agrees, her fingers sliding in between Santana's. "But it's a start, right?"

Santana hums and Quinn takes that as her form of agreement. She uses her other hand (the right one, the free one) to brush away a strand of hair from Santana's face. "Is that drawer still up for discussion?"

Santana squints her eyes as though she's really thinking about it. "I dunno, it's been a long four months. I might need some convincing."

Quinn grins then, her smile toothy and devious. She feels relieved as her mouth descends over Santana's, and it's a great feeling. She's not terrified or panicking or thinking about all the ways in which she could run away. No, she's embracing the future, and maybe it'll be hard. Santana will probably push her too far and Quinn will probably be a bitch, but the point is that they'll do these things and get through them just like they've gotten through everything else: together.

Quinn hears the door slide open and hears clicking that could only be associated with a pair of Kurt's shoes. She doesn't pull away from Santana though, not even when she hears a gasp, because Quinn finally feels like the ache in her heart is dwindling and cold from her body is leaving. She doesn't pull away because Santana is warm and whole and comforting, and it's what Quinn wants, it's what she's always needed.

Kurt comes through the door and immediately shields his eyes in surprise (when he notices what exactly is going on).

"Oh my God, no! I just started feeling safe again!"

* * *

_**Concern over writing hiatus: Honestly, I feel a little drained from all of these fanfics I've been writing and I'd like to update all the fics I've started (and have yet to finish), ya know? **_

_**Addressing my drinking/writing as of late: I had someone very close to me pass away exactly one year ago, hence the drinking. It's not common and it just makes it easier to write how I'm feeling (right now). It lets me access all the sadness, yo.**_

_**To anyone who actually reads these: Thank you! And as a present I have decided to give away a gift of sorts. Here it is: TO THE FIRST THREE PEOPLE TO REVIEW THIS CHAPTER OF THIS STORY, I WILL WRITE A ONE-SHOT OF YOUR CHOICE, PAIRING, PLOTLINE, ETC. MY ONLY GUIDELINES ARE: THE PAIRING MUST COME FROM GLEE, ONCE UPON A TIME, OR GREY'S ANATOMY (because those are the only fandoms I have ever really written for). ALSO, YOU MUST LIST YOUR CRITERIA (plot, pairing, fandom, etc.) IN YOUR REVIEW. TO THOSE THAT CATCH THIS (and care), GOOD LUCK!**_

_**I have an idea and I need opinions: I want to write an AU story where Quinn/Santana meet when Quinn is married (to Finn) and they start a relationship and such. I need help deciding if this is a good idea/whether people will be interested.**_


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